


Prompted - Massage (giving/receiving)

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:26:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4766666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ruari needs a massage.  Fenris eventually offers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prompted - Massage (giving/receiving)

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap ... I actually wrote something prompted (how did that happen?) A couple weeks ago, I was looking for ways to keep myself from worrying about mom (hospital, surgery ... all that fun stuff). Someone on Tumblr sent a couple ideas and one actually made it into a thing (not sure if she has an AO3 ... I THINK she does?). And even more surprising, it was for my Ruari Hawke (who I’ve got next to nothing written for. Bad Tymber). So, anyway, the result from the massage (giving/receiving) prompt under the cut (only kinda sorta NSFW ... I can’t smut. I’ve tried; it wasn’t pretty).

Fenris knew he _should_ know how to do it. He was certain he’d done it before, at some point – maybe for his sister, or even his mother? Surely there had been _someone_ that he’d found enjoyment in doing this for. But if he had, it had been before the markings … before Danarius had branded him, stolen those memories from him.

The only things he _could_ remember about such an act were tainted with memories of Danarius. He remembered disgust … with himself and his master. He remembered feeling ill at the slightest scent of the oil the magister preferred. He remembered the urge to throttle the man as Danarius lay, never defenseless but less menacing than normal, face down on the specially made bed waiting for elven fingers to move along his skin, to relax muscles taut from wielding a staff or sitting rigidly in that high backed chair in his main hall.

But that was all in the past, wasn’t it? Danarius was dead by _his_ hand; Hawke had allowed him that triumph, even after everything that had gone on over the last three years. He was no longer forced to touch him, for any reason. He and Hawke … Ruari … had even … had made amends, were closer than ever. And yet, he still did _not_ know what to do when it came to one thing he _knew_ she would appreciate.

He knew their intimate life was … not perfect … yet, but it was well on its way. She was being patient and understanding; letting him work past his issues at _his_ pace. And he was eager to push past the limits that had driven from her once. So he had no complaints there. But this, this was something he had not admitted to her, as she’d never brought it up. Varric’s idle comment one afternoon had planted the thought firmly in his mind, but he had no idea how to go about it.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~

“Shoulders’re looking really tense, Hawke.” Varric watched the young woman try to hide yet another wince of pain as she sat down at their usual table. She and some of their friends had just made their way back from another job at the coast.

“Just go see Jethann,” Isabella suggested, nudging Ruari gently. “He’s got _great_ hands. I’m sure you could come up with a form of payment he’d … enjoy. Trust me, he’s worth _every_ penny.”

“You really might want to consider it, lass; the massage, I mean. You were a step or two slow a few times out there today.”

Fenris felt the hairs at the back of his neck rise with Isabella’s suggestion, and he couldn’t believe _Sebastian_ of all people was agreeing that she should go to the brothel. There was no reason Hawke … _his_ Hawke … should have to pay for something as … simple as a massage, right? He wanted to interrupt, to say he would take care of it any time she wished, but Merrill spoke first.

“You could always see if Anders could help?” The elf’s soft voice was hard to hear over the din of the Hanged Man’s usual crowd.

“He’s … he’s too busy to bother with something this unimportant, Merrill,” Ruari replied, hiding yet another wince behind a smile. “He’s got his manifesto to copy, over and over again.” She fought the urge to roll her eyes thinking about that blasted paper that kept turning up in her house. “And he _is_ still taking care of people that need his attention far more than I do.”

Fenris couldn’t hide the flash of relief that crossed his face when she refused to seek out the mage’s assistance. It would be … helpful if Merrill knew healing spells, but even then, he wasn’t sure he’d want to trust that Merrill could keep whatever demon she’d made a deal with in check. He’d seen enough blood magic with Danarius to be far too wary. And getting in to see _any_ of the circle mages, even Bethany, was becoming more and more difficult. He’d wager even the Hero of Ferelden would have problems getting past Meredith’s guards.

“I still say Jethann would be _perfect_ for you, Hawke,” Isabella repeated, leaning on the table. “No strings, no pressure; just a good, _hard_ work-out.”

Ruari saw Fenris tense out of the corner of her eye; she could imagine the edge of the table splintering if he didn’t ease up his grip soon. She reached over, rested a hand on his arm and smiled. “Thanks. I think … I think I might be able to convince someone _else_ to take care of it.” She felt him go rigid, for just half a second, before his grip on the table relaxed and he nodded. She took another couple sips from her mug and shoved away from the table. “I … think I’m going to go check on Carth. He wasn’t too happy when I left him behind this morning.”

“I’m sure it only cost you a table leg or two,” Varric chuckled.

“I’ll walk you back, Hawke,” Sebastian offered, moving to stand. “A lady of your … ah, standing shouldn’t be traveling the streets at night alone.”

“You mean a lady with Hawke’s luck for attracting trouble, don’t you?” Varric dodged the heel of bread that came flying in his direction with a grin. “Easy, Hawke. You gotta admit you attract trouble.”

“I’ll be _fine_ , Sebastian.” She knew he meant well; they all did. But she wasn’t an invalid. She carried blades, was damned good with them even when she _was_ sore. “I am perfectly capable of – “

“I’ll walk with her.” Fenris shoved away from the table before anyone could argue. He fought a smile as she nodded, reached for his hand. “And … I will see that … the pain … is taken care of.”

Ruari ignored the smiles and whispered comments from the others at the table and reached up, took his hand and let him help her to her feet. She winced again, doing her best not to let on how much she hurt. She left the tavern, reaching for Fenris’ hand.

~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~ 

And so, Fenris now found himself straddling a face-down Hawke, his hands awkwardly resting on his thighs. He tried to remind himself that she was _not_ Danarius; this was _not_ the same thing he was forced to do all those years ago. At least she didn’t favor the same foul smelling oils his former master did. “Take ….” His voice faltered, got caught in his throat. He swallowed, licked his lips and tried again. “Take … take your shirt off. The … oil will … will stain otherwise.”

Ruari smiled faintly, wriggled a little beneath him. “A bit difficult to do that unless you move, Fenris.” She felt him shift, move away; she rose, tugged off her tunic and tossed it aside before laying down. She considered leaving her breast-band on but the thought of oil staining it led her to abandoning it as well. “You don’t have to do this, if you don’t want to.”

Fenris swallowed as he returned to his earlier position, knees on either side of her hips. Rubbing oil between his hands, he brought them to her shoulders, fingers brushing over scars old and new. He struggled for a moment, reminding himself, _again_ , that this was _not_ the same thing he was forced to do years ago. This was someone he _loved_ , who wasn’t forcing him, wasn’t ordering him.

“I want to,” he murmured, leaning down just enough to whisper those words in her ear. Then, he straightened, started moving, hands and fingers kneading her sore muscles, tracing over each and every scar, memorizing the map they formed on her skin. He dug fingers in when she arched her back, bit back a growl as she let out soft moans at his touch. He took his time, moving slowly over every inch of her back and sides, carving memories of what touches earned what sounds.

He wanted to ask about the scars … some from skirmishes where they had been together, fighting side by side. Some, he knew, had to be from the three years in which she only asked for his aid on the most dangerous jobs … when the need for his skills would outweigh the pain they both felt. And some had to have come before he’d ever met her. He wanted to know all their stories … all _her_ stories, everything about her. And he wished he could tell her more of his past. But it was still all grasping at straws there.

He bit back a soft moan as she started to groan and whimper more frequently, sounding upset whenever he eased up or stopped. “I don’t want to hurt you, Hawke.” His voice dropped to barely above a hungry whisper when he belatedly corrected himself, “Ruari.” He _knew_ she would rather him use her name … especially when they were alone and her answering gasp did little to stem the arousal that was growing more and more evident against her rear.

“Feels … good,” she managed to eek out between moans, biting her lip when he hit a particularly sore spot. Ruari couldn’t decide if she was too tired to even think about attempting anything beyond lying in a blissful puddle beneath his hands or not, though each pass of fingers over her skin created a new twinge of want between her thighs. Her stomach clenched when he leaned down to flick his tongue along her ear, breath teasing her skin.

“Roll over.”

A sudden burst of energy filled her as she turned the instant his weight left her hips. No longer unsure of her level of exhaustion, she reached for him, begging … pleading until his lips came crashing into hers. She could feel his fingers working the laces of her trousers and whimpered, wishing he would hurry while at the same time wanting him to prolong even the slightest touch. “Fenris ….”

With that one word … the whispered, gasping sound of his name passing her lips, his reservations left him. Fenris grinned, slipped a hand beneath the loosened fabric of her trousers and kissed just below her ear. “I love you, my Hawke.”  And he intended on spending all evening showing her.

**Author's Note:**

> Now that I have a couple things for Ruari, I ought to at least make them a series, but I have no idea what I'd call it. :/


End file.
